I definitely don’t wish I had the personality to do stand-up, but I am very intrigued by the joke-writing aspect of it. To the point where, right before I left Anheuser-Busch, they actually paid for me to take an eight-week class at the Comedy Cellar. And even if that is the funniest professional development endeavor I’ve ever had to expense, I still sort of wonder what that would’ve been like (undoubtedly terrifying in many ways, shapes, and forms due to the end-of-session showcase they required).
But once I was officially enrolled in the class, I started writing down little starter bits in my notepad. Because I was afraid that by the time I got to the first session, I’d have no material: meaning I’d have to force shitty material in order to satisfy the course requirements, which of course would not be very funny-person of me. So here are a few of those:
- Going to a record store with my grandmother and having to debrief her afterwards that, while it was very nice of her to compliment the acrylic nails on our male cashier, dragging out compliments for too long can seem insincere and become misconstrued as sarcasm.
- Life is like the aisle you have to stand in at TJ Maxx while you’re waiting to checkout. All you want to do is leave the store (die), but instead you have to wait forever and look at all the stupid shit you’re surrounded by in the meantime. “Sure, I guess I’ll get this Math degree, even though I don’t know when I’ll actually use it.”
- Why are couches always so intricately placed on the side of the highway?
- 75 hard people are the worst.
- I hate when guys act like meeting my parents is a big step. Because what they don’t realize is that, on any given day, they could be five margaritas deep at a Mexican joint talking to a complete stranger about how kids shouldn’t have to write essays on George Floyd at school. They will talk to anyone about anything, and will probably struggle to remember you tomorrow.
- I don’t have a fear of missing out, I actually have fear of going out. Fogo kind of sounds like pogo. Does your inner monologue ever remind you about death in weird ways? Like, “I probably won’t ever jump on another pogo stick before I die.” And then it makes you want to prove yourself wrong, like, “Fuck that. I’m buying a pogo stick tomorrow.”
Per the above, I will stick to blogging.
But I felt hyper in-tune with everything I saw or heard or thought, which was very New York of me. Or at least, selectively in-tune. I opted to block out the fact that I saw a pedestrian get movie-scene hit by a Prius while walking 5th Ave to my very first day of work. Like, flips in the air and all. Or also the time when I thought I was having heart palpitations, so I went to a walk-in clinic on a Saturday just for the doctor to tell me I was having an anxiety attack (fun). Other than that, I adored my 50-minute MTA ride where I listened to Harry Styles and contemplated what I would someday make of myself.
Now that I’m in Minnesota, the only thing that hits the same is scrolling on my phone for an hour with an iced coffee in the parking lot of a Lifetime Fitness. There’s not much to ponder about here – which I like! Maybe all of us in the MSP are the true city-slickers for choosing a city that’s relatively undesirable for regular city folk. Maybe.
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